Gardenia
by lefcadio
Summary: Franz reflects in the garden, but introspection is never easy with Albert around. Written for the LJ challenge comm 30kisses.


The fountain always died during winter. While the temperatures were not overly harsh, it seemed the antiquated plumbing simply couldn't cope when the frosts set in. Grey January skies were mirrored in the brittle water's surface, day after day.

Franz liked the silence; it was peaceful in a way that the house's emptiness was not. True, the grass was overgrown, weeds were flourishing all around and many of the pathways were barely visible any more, but... no-one really saw it these days, and it was probably just as well.

He shivered, rearranging his cotton scarf before drawing his thin jacket around him, numb fingers fumbling at the buttons. The stone beneath him sounded dull and solid as he made his way past the cracked fountain - though it still had a tired air of grandeur lingering, like much of the d'Epinay estate - into the further reaches of the garden.

Dry curly tendrils, brown with winter's touch hung down, spilling over the edges of the roof of a small pavilion situated beside a large pond. Franz paused, exploration faltering as he studied the single wooden bench within.

It had been a while, after all.

Franz stepped up onto the low platform, fingers lightly tracing the carved contours in the dry wooden posts. He remembered sitting here as a child, clutching the arm of the bench, swinging his legs because his feet didn't quite reach the ground. Sometimes his mother sat with him - she was happier back then, when his father had still been alive.

He frowned, staring out over the murky water; his father had never joined them. Though he'd made sure they'd had at least two gardeners employed at any one time, he'd never seemed particularly bothered about the results. Or perhaps it was all for having a pleasant view out of his study window.

Franz sat down on the old bench; it creaked a little, iron limbs protesting under the unfamiliar strain. Yes, it had once been quite beautiful... but Franz thought he rather preferred its current wild, free state to the neatly pristine version his father had enforced.

He smiled; collecting frogspawn with Albert would have been much more enjoyable if they'd been able to pretend they were in the jungle. At that time, his mother had still been trying to keep the garden in order to honour her husband, despite their money troubles.

The bare trees across the water swayed in the chill breeze, a faintly earthy scent mingling with the cold.

Albert... he had not seen his friend for a while now, actually - not since a week ago at New Years'.

The Morcerfs had been hosting a party, and of course Albert requested - well, cheerfully demanded - that they all come.

He remembered it vividly - the large fire crackling in the hearth, bathing the room in warmth and flickering light; a large video screen in the corner displaying celebrations elsewhere in the world, and certainly no shortage of wine.

Lucien had suggested that they all go out into the city - but despite his best persuasions, the lure of the stately (warm and comfortable) home of the Morcerfs won out.

By the time it reached five am, it had only been the two of them left, curled up on the largest sofa opposite the fireplace. Albert had, of course, had far too much to drink, and for the past hour had been clutching Franz tightly, mumbling various complaints about Eugénie into his shoulder.

And Franz had felt peace, then - of a different sort to that which he experienced in the silent emptiness of the garden.

The edges of the room had been swathed in darkness, as it had still been too early for dawn to try and creep up on them. Franz had ended up in a somewhat uncomfortable position, but was loathe to move with Albert half-falling asleep on him. Wake him up now, and he'd probably think it was the best idea in the world to start drinking again.

Franz felt a little guilty reflecting on this stolen moment, so soon imprinted in his memories, but it let him forget the chill, and it was a time he regarded fondly.

Albert had fallen asleep, still occasionally silently mouthing whispers against the thin fabric of Franz's shirt. His cheeks had a heated flush to them, and his hair fell messily over closed eyes. One of his hands rested on Franz's forearm; grip loosened in sleep, but solid and comforting.

Franz had stayed awake for quite some time.

That had been a week ago; he supposed Albert was still feeling a little embarrassed about it - but he'd suddenly get over it some day soon, as he always did.

"Hey, Franz!"

He glanced up, surprised, and tried to suppress a laugh - so here Albert was, almost exactly on cue.

"...what's so funny?" Albert was hurrying over, peering curiously off to either side of him as he did so, examining the overgrown reaches of the garden.

Franz motioned to the empty half of the bench, "just you. Recovered yet?"

Albert opened his mouth indignantly as though to retort, but then seemed to think better of it and just stomped up the dainty steps to the platform instead, before taking a seat beside his friend. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course not," Franz said airily, "you conducted yourself with perfect dignity and grace, as always."

The predictable faint blush rose in Albert's cheeks; he crossed his arms and looked defensive. "It was New Years! And anyway, I didn't do anything embarrassing..." he paused, suddenly looking a little unsure, "... did I?"

The grey clouds were starting to lift, though the sharp chill in the air remained. Albert was shivering a little, and had clearly not stopped to consider the weather too deeply before going out.

Impulsive, as always.

"I suppose not; in fact I'd say you were relatively restrained." Franz tapped his chin thoughtfully, before sending Albert an amused sidelong glance, "except, of course, when you decided you'd had enough of all this awkward tension, and kissed Eugénie before passing out on the floor."

Albert was staring at him, horrified.

"Oh, God... she hasn't been round this week to go shopping with my mother actually, has she? But I don't remember--!"

Franz was fully prepared for the shove that came his way as he burst out laughing, when Albert finally realised.

"...thank you, O best friend," Albert said sourly, "and in compensation, I'm taking your scarf!"

He knew protesting would be futile, so Franz obediently allowed the theft and found the fresh, cool air now sliding along the skin of his neck to be strangely pleasant.

Scarf appropriated, they sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the clouds recede and the sun begin to shine. It was strange, Franz thought, how despite the fact that he was still in this garden; still sitting in the same spot he had loved as a child; still conscious of his father's absence - it was suddenly harder to dwell on it. Or rather, it was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

Albert had his head tipped back and eyes half-shut, a lazy smile on his lips as he managed to catch a few warm sun rays on his face.

No, there were more important things.

"Hey..." Franz began, and Albert turned to look at him expectantly, still buried in the stolen scarf, "it's freezing out here. My neck," he sniffed, "is particularly cold. So I say it's time to go back inside for hot chocolate."

Albert grinned at him, "what, you don't want to look for frogspawn, and re-live that time you fell in--!"

That time it was Albert's turn to try and dodge.

But after reluctantly coming to some sort of truce, they headed back up the chaotic garden path still bickering loudly, and Franz thought that actually, perhaps they should try and spend more time here.

He thinks he definitely likes it more in its current state, anyway.


End file.
